


The Miraculous Alpha and Omega Glory: A Trolley Problem

by fresne



Series: Voyages of the Bakerstreet [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, Exploring fantasies, Genetics, Hand Jobs, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mostly offscreen heat, Oral Sex, Other, Praise Kink, SCIENCE!, Vaginal Sex, bizarre made up genetics, ipreg, medical ethics, the trolley problem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 15:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: Sherlock explores what the change in his relationship with John means.John tries to understand just what was going on between him and Sherlock.On a cellular level, of course.





	1. John POV

John was on a bit of a personal mission. To figure out just what was going on between him and Sherlock.

On a cellular level, of course.

It was perfectly obvious what was going on in general way. They were two good friends with benefits. Flexible. Hard. Mutually satisfying benefits.

The cellular level was clear, it just made no sense.

What John learned from analyzing Sherlock's blood was that he had about as a high a percentage of augmented DNA as it was possible without actually being produced in the labs by those arsehole scientists.

But he'd known that about five seconds after meeting him. His scent alone told John that.

Admittedly, the lab part of that statement was all a bit speculative, because after three hundred years of Augments and Normals mixing their genetics, there was no way of knowing. And after both the Eugenics wars and the WWIII, all the original labs and their records had been destroyed.

It wasn't as if John had the clearance to get genetics samples from wherever it was that Khan Brittanus and the other Eugenics Era Augments were being held in cold storage.

John examined the single-neucleotide polymorphism (SNP) in Sherlock genome to see the genetic variations in his nucleotides. Which John had to admit was an incredibly intimate thing to do. There was nothing more private about a person than their genome.

In a comparison with his own genetics, Sherlock's SNPs showed a significant number of variations in some really interesting places.

He found a report by Doctor McCoy talking about something he'd done to heal Captain Kirk from being very dead using something from Khan Brittanus. It was a little vague on the specifics. Since Doctor McCoy and Captain Kirk were not available given the hundred years that had passed, he couldn't ask them.

Course, it was over the morning briefing that John realized that he was an idiot.

Not just the idiot that Sherlock always called him, but a true idiot, because everyone wasn't dead.

Donovan looked at him suspiciously when he sat next to her in the galley. "What do you want?"

He shrugged. Trying to look as if he didn't care. "Trying to fill in some information about early Augment DNA and try as I might, I can't find any details about what Khan Brittanus did to cure you."

She clutched her coffee mug. "Just as happy to have history fucking forget me."

"Yeah, but still. You had a neuropathic illness that was killing you. Now your immune system is in the ninetieth percentiles of Human norm. What happened?" He threw in the plausible lie. "If there's a possibility that something in Augment physiology could help people, I want to know."

"You want to publish," said Donovan flatly. "Your boyfriend published his big story about Andorian reproduction and now you want a spot of glory."

"The Commander isn't my boyfriend," said John, quickly.

"Ha," she quirked a look at him, "But you knew who I was talking about when I said boyfriend." She sipped her coffee. "I don't care. I don't know. Mum said Brittanus showed up with Dad. Gave me a serum. She seemed to think it was made from something in his blood. Makes me a bloody vampire, it does. Nothing in the last three hundred years that says Augments have magic blood. So, I don't know. Fucker could build death ships. Who knows what else he could make."

John was inclined to think vampire wasn't far off. If by vampire, Donovan meant that there was something in the blood cells of the earliest Augments that had certain healing factors that hadn't been passed on through succeeding generations. Most likely because those very factors had made reproduction itself difficult for the earliest Augments.

He reminded himself that he was on a personal mission and asked the question. "Can I have your permission to look at your genomic data on record?" Without her permission, or a genuine medical emergency, John wouldn't be able to access that section of her records.

Donovan laughed. "Good fucking luck."

At his blank look, she said, "Watson, I came into Starfleet before Augments were allowed in."

"But how could they keep Augments out if they didn't test to see who had augmented genetics or not?" It made no sense.

Her look was wry. "Sort of thing I didn't think much about at eighteen and itching to join."

Still on a personal mission, John asked for and eventually got, after promising to not mix it with her medical records, a spit sample from her. Not that he had a sample of her genome before Khan had made his alterations. However, Donovan and Sherlock shared hundreds of SNPs in areas associated with immune responses. They weren't relatives. Donovan had been born a hundred years ago in East London and Sherlock was thirty something from a mining colony primarily settled by Humans from the Appalachians.

There were also, as to be expected, significant differences. None of the white blood cells in the blood sample that he eventually convinced her to give him behaved any differently than Normal white blood cells. While Sherlock's actively worked to repair damaged tissue.

It was a certain something that Sherlock had going on downstairs too. Because he'd done something to heal John's reproductive system. Because fallopian tubes that had been sealed didn't grow back on their own. Even down to repairing the scarring. It was as if it had never happened.

A week of research and John was no closer to figuring out what was going on than when he started. So, sitting at dinner with Sherlock, who was ranting about an ongoing conflict on the planet of Neural, and looking absurdly attractive, John blurted out "Let's keep it simple. Tomorrow. Eight hundred hours, come prepared for a day at the beach on Risa," he hadn't intended to say that, and with Sherlock staring at him with those gorgeous changeable eyes, he added, "and bring a horga'hn."

Looked back down at his pasta.

That effectively ended the discussion about the endless war on Neural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neural:   
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Private_Little_War  
> I realize that this story has mostly focused on genetic engineering. Something like Crisper.  
> https://cosmosmagazine.com/biology/what-crispr-and-what-does-it-mean-genetics  
> And I am using a plot point from the 1960s, decades before the genome was mapped.  
> However, what John is doing here is less how to change DNA than how to understand DNA. For example, how certain SNPs (pronounced "snips") relates to how people respond to therapeutics. Although, in this case, how Sherlock's SNPs are a therapeutic.  
> https://ghr.nlm.nih.gov/primer/genomicresearch/snp  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genome-wide_association_study


	2. Sherlock POV

Sherlock prepared for his first acknowledged encounter with John. He reviewed his charts and studies about every desire that John had ever evinced any interest in. Because there was considerably more at stake now that John knew that Sherlock was Sherlock.

Before if he'd provided a less than completely satisfying experience then those failures could be associated with programming, and not Sherlock.

He was not going to fail. John was not going to regret sharing coitus with Sherlock. Still he would have liked more information than a day at the beach on Risa and to bring a horga'hn.

Risan beaches varied in type and scope. Was he expected to snorkel in the reefs off the Paradise Cove? Examine particulates in the green sand beach made of ground up jade. Neither of which had anything to do with coitus.

John had never set up a scenario on a beach at Risa prior to knowing Sherlock was Sherlock.

Sherlock did extensive research on horga'hn statues, which indicated interest in participating in the Risan sexual practice of Jamaharon. But there were no records on what was entailed in Jamaharon beyond focusing on turning the energy of release back into the body. As to how he was to dress for a day at the beach on Risa, there were too many sources of information. He opted for clothing adequate for aquatic activities and little else.

The rest of the crew appeared to be startled as he walked briskly through the corridors in an item known as a speedo, but a significant number were disgruntled that it was not their day in the pool. Possibly a holographic pool as the Bakerstreet had a gym, but for the obvious reason of occasional loss of gravity, no standing bodies of water for the purpose of exercise.

John was sitting in a cup shaped chair on a white sand beach when Sherlock came into the holodeck. John swallowed. "You didn't wear a robe."

Sherlock resisted the urge to cover himself. After all, John had seen Sherlock in every state of undress. He could feel blood rushing to his cheeks and upper chest in embarrassment. "You didn't indicate that it was necessary," he said somewhat snappishly.

"Oh, no… no it's not necessary." John licked his lips. "You okay with this, or do you want to call this off?"

Sherlock, still red faced, sat down, in a chair several paces from John's still clutching the Horga'hn, and mutinously wondered why it was harder to determine John's desires now that he wasn't pretending to be a hologram. He glared at a falsely beautiful blue sea. Thought about how since Risa's weather was controlled, the gentle seas of Risa were fake as well, if in a different way.

He was thinking so furiously, he only noticed as John laid a hand on his shoulder, and said, "As I just said, are you seeking Jamaharon?" There were indications that he had been speaking for some time.

There at least Sherlock's research had told him what to say. "All that is mine is yours." Then in case this was ambiguous to someone of John's level of obliviousness, he added, "Yes. I would like to have sex with you."

"Lovely." John plucked the Horga'hn from Sherlock's grip and put it on a side table. He tugged Sherlock to his feet and led him to a cabana woven with rioting flower. Sherlock thought abstractly that the holodeck was doing an excellent job implementing his improvements for floral scents before John pushed him gently back onto the low wide bed in the cabana, and lay down next to him.

Sherlock lay still for a long moment before remembering why he was there. Coitus. He ran hand along John's shoulder. His hand. John's shoulder. As himself.

"Now the key to Jamaharon," said John, "as I learned on a training cruise in my third year, is to maintain eye contact. Whatever we do, we do it looking at each other. Okay."

It was a ridiculously easy instruction and Sherlock snorted before he remembered that derision was not conducive to sexual intercourse. While, the reference John's greater experience stung.

John just laughed. "Yeah, it sounds easy, but," he leaned over and his lips touched Sherlock's. John's lips. Not in heat. Not thinking he was kissing a simulacrum. John kissing Sherlock.

His eyes fluttered closed, as John pulled away. John said, "It's surprisingly hard."

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. Aware that he'd already failed, but since John was laughing, his failure was not apparently cause for John to leave.

John slid one hand up Sherlock's chest. "Now as much as I love your gorgeous cock, you've got so many other lovely parts."

Sherlock held John's gaze, but felt compelled to honesty. "John, my…" flushed further, "member is within normal parameters for an Alpha."

John grinned. "What's it a member of?" He leaned forward and pecked another kiss. This time, Sherlock kept his eyes open. Focusing on John's face. The flecks in his irises. His expanding pupils. The taste of his mouth. "Say cock."

John's mouth against his. His breath into Sherlock's mouth. Too close to see the extent of his flush. Sherlock whispered, "Cock."

"Say fuck."

"Fuck."

"Fuck, your voice is gorgeous. I could get off just listening to you talk, but," another wide eyed kiss, "let's not try that this time."

Sherlock was more than amenable to slide his hands over John's skin. Unable to explore by sight what he longed to see due to the requirement that he hold John's gaze. Still his hands were able to explore. Feel the nuance of skin. Texture. He felt John looking into him.

Felt as if every barrier melted away the longer he looked.

Sherlock was more than amenable to explain the differences in texture. Describe John to himself while looking at John. Into bright blue eyes. Until somehow, he was leaning over John. Both their swim wear long since gone.

Looking down into those eyes as he pushed inside. Saw the way they slightly widened. Knew his own expression wasn't far from different. Amazed. John's body slick and hot around him. Cock. Cunt. Fuck. Sherlock said the words that John's tight squeeze and quickening breath and sweat and scent told him that John wanted to hear.

John's legs wrapped around him as they looked into each other's eyes. The sea providing the rhythm to their movements. Blue sea. Blue eyes.

A counter point as the surf picked up. Everything narrowing to the desire blow pupils of John's eyes. The tiny flecks of deep blue in the lighter blue of his irises. The feeling of being inside him. Not in heat. Not pretending. Himself.

Sherlock kept his eyes determinedly open as he knotted, but it was not easy. Not as he came. Not as they spent twenty minutes simply pulling and moving and gazing into each other. 

Sherlock could not have felt more naked, or more content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Captain%27s_Holiday_(episode)  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Horga%27hn  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Jamaharon


	3. John POV

John, truth be told, learned a fair bit examining his own body's responses to physical contact with Sherlock.

Which there was a lot of.

A lot.

What John really hadn't thought through when he'd started the whole no strings sex in the holodeck thing was that it was incredibly difficult to separate interacting with Sherlock, his best friend, and Sherlock, his holodeck hookup.

John had a good reason to be glad that Hudson couldn't read him anymore after his little adventure in becoming psychic.

There were certain scenarios that were right out.

Right out.

Now that he knew it was him, being fucked on the simulation of the bridge, which had always been halfway about his humiliation kink, was also out. Just too surreal when he actually did spend time with Sherlock on the real bridge.

Although, there was this one scenario where they were in a pocket universe that was slowly closing and the only way to escape was to have sex in key locations around the ship that was fun.

Scenarios that were action adventure with sex at the end were a bit surreal too.

Their daily lives were action adventures. Leaning against the back wall of a transporter room, having almost died because some living rock aliens on Excalbia setup a battle between good and evil for them to fight in. Sure John got to punch a simulacrum of Colonel Green, but they got the simulacrums of Surak and Abraham Lincoln killed. But looking at Sherlock with his shirt torn and his face smudged, it was incredibly hard not to reach out for him. For John at least.

Sherlock didn't seem affected.

Then there was their once a week dinners. He wasn't about to stop spending time with his friend just because they also happened to be fucking. Generally, the next day.

It added anticipation as an extra spice to their meals.

Sherlock came to his quarters to push food around. Their knees would bump under the table. Their hands would brush over the table. John would watch Sherlock very occasionally lift a fork and slide food between his lips. Breathe his scent. His mouth would water at the musky taste of the air. That tinge of arousal.

He'd lick his lips and swallow. Feel the air shift with the scent of his own arousal. Sherlock would stare at him like an actor with stage fright and not make a move.

Oh, if John stretched at the end of the meal and in any way indicated that he had a crick in his neck, Sherlock was on it. Pressing his thumbs into the muscles along his spine. Dragging his fingers through John's hair for a scalp massage and generally trying to drive John spare.

They had been at this for several months, when it occurred to John that he was picking all the holodeck programs. So he paused in the midst of chewing on a turnip and said, "You should pick what we do next. What are your kinks? What did you like with other partners?"

Sherlock gave him the 'you are the King of Morons' look. "There were no other partners?"

"What no seriously. But you're," Sherlock had to be at least ten years older than John and, "gorgeous."

Sherlock glared his own turnips, which John had to admit hadn't been the best idea. "It never interested me until you." He was blushing. Glaring and blushing and his lower lip was just that little bit extended in a proto-pout.

John completely forgot the holodeck only rule. Forgot it completely. "That is so," John leaned over the small table, not caring when turnips hit the floor, "hot." He sucked lightly on that lower lip. That pout to be. They kissed over the boring food. Tumbled back onto the couch to kiss and breathe and kiss again. Hands moving restlessly over clothing. Legs tangled. Just the idea that he was the only one to have been with this amazing wonderful person. John couldn't possibly wait until the next day to be with Sherlock again.

It was the easiest thing in the world to shimmy out of their clothes. Grin at Sherlock as he ordered lube from the replicator. Took him apart without being on sex pollen. Nothing more than lube and his cock.

After, Sherlock lay on the couch looking like virtue's downfall.

John got up. Stretched. Felt a bit terrible saying, "I've got an early morning, so I'm for bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

Shell shocked Sherlock dressed and shuffled out into the night.

John kind of felt like those Excalbian rock creatures would put that move on the evil side of the ledger, but John had to draw a boundary somewhere. They were not sleeping together. Holodeck and the occasional post prandial fuck. That really had to be it.

However, since try as he might, John could not get Sherlock to admit to his own desires, he did his own investigations. He made, as it were, a list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made to fight in a battle between good and evil/Excalbians.  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Savage_Curtain_(episode)


	4. Sherlock POV

John had provided very vaguely precise instructions about their next assignation. Sherlock was to wear a cotton tank top, a white lab coat, large plastic rimmed glasses dipping down over his cheekbones, with his hair slicked back tight against his head. Sherlock's persona was a virgin scientist who had dedicated his life to nothing but work and had never been kissed.

However, John refused to describe the scenario beyond that. He would only smile when asked for the level of detail Sherlock needed to ensure that John was fully satisfied with the encounter.

If he wasn't fully satisfied, John might want to stop.

Sherlock fell back on his charts. The highest probability was John as wicked lab assistant, who needed to be punished with a spanking for leaving the lab equipment dirty. This was closely followed by wanton Sugar Baby, who flirted with Sherlock's colleagues before requiring some form of public coitus upon the lab equipment, which seemed a bit contradictory to Sherlock.

Therefore, he was unprepared when he walked into the holodeck onto a stage in an auditorium. Behind him on the wall was a monitor displaying his monograph on Vacuuvita forms with his particular observations on Gontuu.

All classified material.

John sat in the front row of the dimly lit room wearing a silk bespoke suit that indicated that he was a merchant in exotic goods. He was sitting as if bored. Almost asleep.

Over a loudspeaker, a voice said, "Please, welcome Professor Holmes, whose utterly brilliant research into Vacuuvita life forms has revolutionized our understanding of the possible."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, who was not looking. This was an unusual opening given John had fallen asleep when Sherlock had shown him the monograph. However, if this was what John had arranged, Sherlock could speak at length on the subject of his observations.

As soon as Sherlock started speaking, John sat up. He leaned forward. His blond hair falling charmingly forward. At Sherlock's first pause for breath, John clearly whispered, "Amazing." All around him, the murmur of the crowd was of full of excitement and approbation. 

Sherlock felt his blood flush in his cheeks.

He explained his theory that Gomtuu leveraged a form of organic propulsion, Mycelium fungus, for trans locational transport and interstellar travel, and earned a breathy, "Brilliant!" from John. A look of wonder, blue eyed awe, on his face. All around him, the crowd was whispering excitedly. Rippling echoes of John's voice, "Amazing. Brilliant. Genius. Stunning." Every voice John's.

Sherlock felt a sensation in his chest as if a small bird were trapped there. A delicate flutter. Heat continued to bloom in his face. His chest. The chemical cocktail that was love poured by some louche bartender.

His heart thundering, he kept going.

John leaned forward in his seat, spreading his legs wide. 

Sherlock dropped his voice. Deeper and deeper, as he described the detritus of the spores he'd collected from his uniform after being transported by Gomtuu. Their properties. The precise sensation of transportation.

In the audience below, John whispered, "Breathtaking."

His heart roaring in his ears, Sherlock kept speaking. Facts. Observations. Deeper and deeper, until his voice was half purr and half rumble.

All to an ongoing rain of praise.

As Sherlock concluded, the crowd leapt to its feet, John at the front clapping furiously. A wave of sound. Adoration. He bathed in auditory stimuli that slowly shifted into a party in a crowded club.

John stood in front of him holding a glass of wine. "That was the most amazingly brilliant presentation I've ever seen. Bout made the back of my head blow off. You're a real triple threat."

"What!" said Sherlock genuinely confused, stepping back.

"You're brilliant." John stepped closer. Sherlock could feel the warm from his body. "You're beautiful." He plucked the unnecessary glasses off Sherlock's face and he hadn’t realized how heavy they'd been. How light his face felt without them. Free. How they had created a sheen of sweat that accentuated the subtle push of John's breath. Faintly sweet. He'd been chewing a clove. "You're oblivious to just how amazing you are. Would you be interested in… sharing a drink?"

Sherlock remembered his role just in time. "I've never," he bit his lower lip and looked down. "Shared a drink."

"Would you share a drink with me?" It was as John's eyes were glowing. Shining a light into Sherlock.

Sherlock could only whisper, "Yes."

Instead of handing him the glass, John sipped from it, reached up and pulled Sherlock's head down. As their lips met, the wine washed from John's mouth into Sherlock's.

_A voluminous fall of red silk floating away from the very highest tower. Twisting turning on a breeze. Redolent of cedar. Tobacco smoke caressing the falling cloth. Flowers. Spinning jasmine petals from high walls._

His eyes fluttered as he swallowed, as John pulled away. Pulled him into a booth in the back. The walls and bench seats lined with lush velvet. It was so dark, Sherlock could barely discern the color. The air around them thick with John's scent captured in the small space. Outside the booth, the sound of the crowd continued. A constant conversation talking about Sherlock's presentation.

Filled with overlapping praise.

"You've got to know that as soon as you started talking, no one could take their eyes away from you." John slid the lab coat off his shoulders. "I couldn't take my eyes off you, and I'm hard to impress."

Sherlock struggled to find some stable ground. "You're incredibly easy to impress."

"Only when faced with someone as absurdly wonderful as you." John sipped another mouthful of wine, and made a cup of Sherlock's mouth. They drank from each other. "You intoxicate me."

Sherlock's breath hitched in his chest. That captured bird battering itself inside the cage of his body. The velvet soft at his back. The taste of John. Of wine. Of praise. Making him moan as John lightly pressed against his front. Silk fabric. Lips on his skin. Chest. Bodies grinding. Praise filtering from the crowd.

_Floating. Twisting. Tangled. Murmuring. A summer breeze through his every corridor. Sunshine reflecting off the mirrors. Drifting on the river current. Butterflies caressing the structured blooms of him in the ornamental garden. The roses all opening their tight buds._

"It's okay. I've got you." Sherlock realized he was breathing too fast. Heart careening out of control. He was shaking. John's hands cupped his face. His knees bracketed him. "I've got you." When Sherlock had calmed, John smiled wryly.

The environment shifted again. They were in a hotel room. Sherlock was sitting on the edge of a bed half dressed. John was pulling a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket. "Have you ever gone to a hotel room with a stranger?"

"No," whispered Sherlock. It was certainly true.

John opened Sherlock's flies. Wrapped a silk handkerchief around his cock. "Been touched like this."

"No."

John freed himself. Moved closer. Wrapped the cloth around both their cocks. John's hands. Breath. Lips. Air. Velvet coverlet at his back. Silk at his front.

"I've got you. I'll take care of you. I'll take such good care of someone so precious. Come for me."

It was less an explosion than everything melted. Fell away. Clothed, he felt utterly exposed.

As he floated down to himself, shattered, John said softly, "This is a safe space. Absolutely safe. You should feel safe telling me what you want, because you're amazing and I've got you."

In that space, John's scent rich in the air, Sherlock flushed, lowered his lashes to a narrow crescent of sight. Whispered the truth thundering with his heart beats. "Next time, could I be…" he bit his lower lip and let out the words, "be owned by you?"

Received a kiss. "It would be my pleasure to own you."

Sherlock shivered in John's arms.


	5. John POV

Getting a sample of Sherlock's semen wasn't exactly difficult under the circumstances, but certainly necessary if John was going to understand what was going on.

John turned off the backups on the bio computer and ran an analysis.

Sherlock's sperm motility was off the charts, which fine, was obvious. Less obvious was that they seemed to be roughly divide into two categories. Speed racers, which rapidly whipped along through any complicated cellular mazes that John cared to replicate within seconds. Always selecting the right path to the cellular material with the hormonal signature of an ovum. In a solution replicating an omega's reproductive system, they remained active for two to three hours. Sacrificing longevity for speed.

Then there were the dreadnaughts. Not as fast, but capable of existing in even acidic solutions for ten days, which was at least twice as long as Normal Human sperm.

John probably shouldn't have tested with one of his actual ovum, but he was curious how long the dreadnaughts were viable.

Ten days, which put an interesting spin on heats, and provided an explanation why he'd gotten pregnant the time they were separated on planet Mafia. John had gone into heat, but had been nowhere near Sherlock. He'd spent most of the time fending off hooligans with a tommy gun, and making the perhaps unfortunate decision to fuck himself with what looked like a turkey baster. The baster must have caused an ovum to release, which had been caught by a dreadnaught.

John also got an explanation for what was so painful when the blastocysts attached. The dreadnaughts still left floating around _helped_ by burrowing into the endometrium to make way for the blastocyst, which since all Augments had some improved healing was certainly one way to invade an endometrium.

John sighed and saved the fertilized blastocyst to a holo cube.

If there were damaged ovarian cells, the dreadnaughts did nothing, but the fast cruisers did the work of healing the cells, while a dreadnaught took care of fertilization.

He probably shouldn't have tested if the fast cruisers were viable, but it was just another holo cube.

His experiments, corroborated what he was finding in situ.

Namely, the more sex John had with Sherlock, the more reproductively successful John was, by a certain definition of the term successful.

He learned this by dint of trial, error, and a growing number of holo cubes. Although, he did confirm that if he had sex with Sherlock after fertilization – the time they were trapped by Plato's psychotic and psychic Step children – at least he didn't go through the cramps from hell when Sherlock's tiny spawn attached themselves to him.

Whether an ovum was present or not, the faster cruisers consistently carried out the healing work that he'd seen in tests. That was easy to verify. A cut on his right arm and a call for Sherlock to come over for a late night visit. Satisfying and a cure for all injuries.

When they'd had less physical ongoing contact – the beginning or that time the Trelane trapped Sherlock on the planet with the strange Robin Hood fantasy – there were fewer fertilized eggs. When they had more contact - the time they were captured by gambling incorporeal consciousness and made to mate as part of creating new race of warriors for gladiatorial games – they had more. Never more than thirteen, which John had begun to think of as the Bakerstreet dozen. Never less than four.

Although, the number was John's contribution. A genetic pre-disposition for high order magnitude pregnancies and a Normal Human average immune system, supplemented by magical healing cock.

When he reached twenty holo cubes after the giant space amoeba tried to eat the ship, that put out some sort of energy that did something to the suppressors of every Omega on board, he added sterilizing his ovaries every morning to his routine. It didn't completely stop accidents from happening, for example when they were possessed by ancient beings who'd been incorporeal for millennium, and now that they were in their bodies really wanted to fuck, but it slowed things down considerably and brought the overall numbers down when heat did happen to a less ridiculous number of offspring.

As to condoms, if John managed to have such a thing while being captured on a planet that had developed a parallel Roman civilization where the inhabitants made them compete in gladiatorial games, until the day John's suppressors wore off, suffice to say the condoms didn't survive. He had an idea why when he experimented with more samples. Aggressive sperm attaching to the synthetic layers and burrowing against it until it burst.

Because somehow that had happened.

As the number of cubes increased, there was the obvious answer of breaking things off with an Augment who had a magic cock, but John told himself that hadn't worked in the past and he should just shove that idea out an airlock. Right out.

Even after ending up getting a Bakerstreet dozen worth of knocked up on Omega IV, yet another parallel Earth through yet another dimensional fissure.

The Bakerstreet had gone through a Verithon wave anomaly, came across the Exeter, a ship lost a century before, which had been abandoned when the crew caught a bioengineered plague.

Back during Omega IV’s version of the Eugenics wars, the US and USSR Augments created a super plague to take each other out, and then did something that cured everyone of that same plague while giving themselves incredible longevity. Since the Yangs and the Coms, two local groups locked in hundreds of years of conflict, all had the same SNPs as Sherlock, and more importantly Donovan, in the sectors of their DNA associated with immune response, and yet there were no Augments, John had a theory as to what had happened.

It involved a far larger population of Normals draining Augments of every last drop of their blood.

After coming up with that gruesome theory, escaping the Coms, being nearly speared by the Yangs, it was just John’s luck that a planet named Omega IV fucked John's suppressors all to fuck.

Maybe if John were more attached to his North American Augment ancestors, he'd have been a bit more moved by the discovery of the Preamble of the American Constitution as some sort of holy work, but he'd just spent three days being solidly, relentlessly, gloriously shagged by Sherlock. He was lucky he could still walk.

John was just glad Washington lived up to his last name and knew all the words to something the defendants of Americans got worked up over. Anything to get the locals to leave them alone long enough for John to get his tricorder back and confirm that none of the away team were plague carriers.

Still, after a further month of running around mountain terrain avoiding murder clans, John should have been in terrible condition. Washington had spent the entire time training the Yang in military strategy and sleeping in a bed, but looked like he’d been dragged backwards through a hedge. The training was maybe a violation of the Prime Directive, but John was under the impression that was more honored in the breach. John, who as long as he had to sleep with Sherlock for warmth each night, had taken advantage of the opportunity to shag him every night, felt and knew he looked fantastic. His skin was clear and glowing. His hair was rose water spa soft.

It certainly put things in a certain perspective as he pulled down the utero transporter to put his Baker’s dozen on hold.

It also put things in a certain perspective when the colony on Gama Hydra IV was infected by a disease that caused rapid aging, John raced against the clock to cure the colonists. All the while in the back of his mind, he was thinking, maybe Sherlock's blood, his sperm, his whatever, could cure a colony.

It was that horrible trolley problem he'd had to study in Medical Ethics class back at the academy. It was worse than the Kobayashi Maru test in a way. The professor has started them in the classic scenario. A trolley was bearing down on a family standing on the tracks. The conductor could change to a different track, but there was a single person standing on the other track. Either way, someone was going to die.

Given a choice between the needs of the many, or the few or the one, they'd been asked what they should chose. The professor took it through the increasing variations on the question. Ending with the philosophical question that as medical professionals to be, if there were eight people who needed organ transplants, and there was a person whose organs could save them, but they’d have to die, was it ethical to kill someone to save eight lives.

First do no harm.

First thing.

It had made John think at the time about a story his father used to tell about a magic pig that could be harvested every night for its meat and it would revive the next day. Harry had loved the idea of endless bacon. But his father, always so quiet and serious when not on the stage, had pointed out that the pig had to endure the endless harvest. That it seemed easy to make a choice if the cost was someone else’s life. That hard choices could be incredibly seductive, but they ate at a soul. They were sort of thing that left scars.

Then he’d laid some the Scottish play quotes on them, because his dad loved his Shakespeare.

So yeah, John could maybe save a colony.

But his first oath was to do no harm.

He also had to wonder what would happen if word got out. It was bound to eventually. What if beings thought all Augments had that special something in their blood?

What if Ferengi and Orions and Normals went from trying to grab the occasional omega to grabbing every Augment to grind up their bones? Their blood. The bits in between. Because that's how it would go. Nasty bit by bit. Even if those bits didn't do a bit of medical good.

Hadn't kept the humpback whales or white rhinos from being hunted to extinction.

John cured the colony using medicine and long hours. In a way that didn't turn Sherlock into nothing more than a magic pig with magic ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plato's Stepchildren and the episode with the first interracial kiss. BTW: a number of these one offs, I had considered writing, but at a certain point I had to cut myself off.   
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Plato%27s_Stepchildren_(episode)  
> Robin Hood fantasy  
> memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Qpid_(episode)   
> Gamblers  
> memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Gamesters_of_Triskelion_(episode)  
> alternative Ancient Romans  
> memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Bread_and_Circuses_(episode)  
> Space Amoeba   
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Immunity_Syndrome_(episode)  
> Incorporeal life forms (there's a few in Trek, but I'm thinking)  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Return_to_Tomorrow_(episode)  
> Because not even referencing the episode Omega Glory seemed a bit wrong.   
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Omega_Glory_(episode)  
> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Soliton_wave  
> memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/The_Deadly_Years_(episode)


	6. Sherlock POV

His first time choosing.

John insisted that he choose and design the scenario, not keep having John design them based on parameters from Sherlock.

His choice.

The scenario started simple, but Sherlock couldn't help but elaborate on it. Originally, Sherlock was one of many concubines in the palace of Emperor John. But he couldn't help adding that John had conquered Sherlock's planet, deposing a cruel ruler. He'd seen the new Emperor ride beneath the wide walls of Nuvo-Babylon and as he'd thrown handfuls of fragrant flowers upon the golden curls of his conqueror, their eyes had met, and he'd fallen in love.

It was just a story. Sherlock could tell a story like that and admit nothing.

He'd added that Sherlock had returned to his cramped, dim garret above the inn owned by his cruel half-brother, only for the Emperor's guards to arrive with word that Sherlock was to be taken to the imperial seraglio and prepared for their new ruler's pleasure. That he'd initially blushed with mortification when the mistress of the seraglio told him what would be necessary to cool the Emperor's insatiable desires, because he'd never done anything like that, and yet his master had so skillfully relieved him of his virginity that he soon longed not to cool his Master's desire's to enflame them further.

John had said, "Holy, fuck!" when he outlined the scenario.

_He could hear Mycroft telling him that this was giving into transport. Emotions were not an asset. First Father warned him that John might leave if Sherlock made a misstep and revealed too much. Second Father admonished him about duty and obligation._

_Slowly drowning them out was the sound of the inner sea. The one that had replaced the locked door and the desolate ice within. The marine breeze that flew up from the lowest level of himself was cool, but not cold. Mist concealed pirate ships in search of adventure. Until the wide harvest moon came out to shine a million coins on lapping waves_

A safe place to go to shore.

Sherlock went into the holodeck. He took off his clothes. Then stood there uncertain of his own scenario. He placed a blue silk robe over his shoulders that fluttered as he went through the wide golden doors that he'd seen so often from the other side.

John tended to play the role of concubine as a sassy wanton. Experienced. Flirting with this or that holographic figure, until getting his due punishment. Sherlock had other desires. He could admit that. Here. In this space. It was safe to admit that he had desires.

"Your Majesty, summoned me?" He kept his eyes down. Blood staining his cheeks. "How may I please you?"

John was seated at a low table on a balcony overlooking moonrise over Nuvo-Babylon. There was a bowl in front of him full of dried flower petals. Sherlock's flowers. "You're too far away. Come closer."

Sherlock took three steps and gracefully sank to his knees. The carpet beneath his knees was soft. Not real. What was real was John's hand immediately tangling in his hair.

John said, "Lift your hair away from your neck.

Sherlock looked up, shyly, and did as he was ordered. John picked up a silvery chain out of the bowl of flowers. In between each link in the chain were John's initials over and over on. He snapped the chain around Sherlock's neck. "Now anyone who sees you will know you belong to me."

He traced the initials with one hand. "Yes, Master."

John said, "If I were to parade you in front of everyone on a leash, nearly naked as you are, what would you do?"

"Follow you, Master," he laid one hand on John's left knee, rubbing his thumb along the inside of John's leg. "Because I belong to you." He moved between John's legs.

John said, "Pet, ask to suck my cock."

"Please, Master, if I've pleased you, may I be allowed to suck your cock? Please, I love sucking your cock. Please master, may I?"

John grinned slowly. "I love the sound of the word please in your mouth." He twisted his hand in the collar. "It pleases me to give in to your request. But remember, you can't touch yourself. Only I'm allowed to touch you."

Sherlock reveled in John's scent. In the warmth of blood near the surface. Of being lower than John in this position.

He pulled John's cock, already hard, out of the loose folds of his trousers. Took his time. There was never enough time. He licked at the vein on the underside. The deep red tip. John's fingers tangled in his hair. Pulled on the collar. Cradled his head. Groaned, "You belong to me."

Sherlock's mouth was full. He could only hum John's favorite violin solo by Lieder while he bobbed his head up and down.

"Stop!" Sherlock stopped, saliva dripping around his mouth. John stood up. "Undress me."

Sherlock peeled his master out of his clothes so that he could be comfortable.

"Ask me to fuck your pretty mouth."

"Please, Master. Fuck between my lips, into my mouth, down my throat. They all belong to you. Everything belongs to you." He opened his lips and took John in. Did his best to keep his teeth out of the way. Avoid choking, his practice all week coming in handy, as he took all of John in.

When John came, he drank that down. Breathing quietly as John loosened his grip in Sherlock's hair. Pulled away. John whispered, "You are my favorite. I'm going to send all the others right off. You're the only one I need."

Sherlock answered by nuzzling his head against John's thigh. Sighing as John latched a leash in the collar and tugged him in the direction of the massive red silk bed on the other side of the room.

When John said, "Beautiful. The legs on you," Sherlock splayed those limbs over the fabric to pull an appreciative look from John. When John said, "I love your neck," Sherlock let his head fall forward. When he said, "I love how you did what I said and didn't touch yourself," he lifted his hips to show his master his painful erection.

John said, "Favorite, ask me to fuck you."

Sherlock said in as low a voice as he could manage, "Please, Master, I've been so very good." Turned his hips to face John. Sliding the silk away. "Please, Master. May I be fucked by your… cock?" Moved his arms over his head, loving the feeling of the silk. "I'm all for you."

He heard, how could he not, the sharp gasp when John noticed the bright red anal plug gleaming between his posterior cheeks. Sherlock had placed it there before he'd arrived. That was why he'd knelt as soon as he came into the room. So John couldn't see it.

Sherlock twisted, because John wasn't the only flexible one. "Every time I moved, I imagined it was you filling me. Please, Master. I promise I'll be so good. Please. Haven't I been good? Don't I deserve a good hard fucking with your cock?" Then somewhat to his horror, "Don't you need me?" came out of his lips.

"You are a terror and a wonder," said John. "Of course, I need you." He laid one hand on Sherlock's lower back above his sacrum. With the other, he pulled out the plug. The scent of lube and sex and alpha musk filled the chamber. Sherlock rewarded him by hooking his legs over John's shoulders as John's cock took the place of the plug. Made use of his double joints. Sherlock groaned when John told him, "You belong to me."

John fucked him until Sherlock was purring.

Sherlock drifted down afterwards. Hardly knowing where he was. Only knowing that John was petting his hair and saying, "You're mine," which was exactly how Sherlock wanted it to be.


	7. John POV

Sherlock was very amenable if John couldn't sleep to dropping by John's quarters late at night and leaving after to do whatever research it was Sherlock did in the middle of the night.

Of course, eventually, John simply drifted to sleep afterwards. This was when he discovered that Sherlock must have had some cephalopod DNA, because John fell asleep with a starship commander only to be snuggled by what felt like a six foot plus octopus all night.

Which led to morning sex, which was an amazing way to start the day. It was after the third time falling asleep next to Sherlock that John came stark awake alone in bed.

Sherlock wasn't asleep. He was examining John's framed posters of the Watson troupe productions. Watsons present Hamlet. Watsons present the Logical Epigrams – Surak – a Life. Watsons sing the song of Thasilar the Last.

Sherlock in a room with time to get into everything was a Sherlock who would examine everything in that room. Get into every crevice of John's life.

As it was, he looked at a picture of John with a few of his mate's from his prep school, he said, "You went to a Catholic high school. You're not Catholic." He picked up the picture and examined it even more closely. "No. Based on the other individuals with you, clearly a school for students with disciplinary issues. But you've always spoken very fondly of your childhood." He began to re-examine every picture. He was quite clearly going to start tearing through drawers soon.

There was a box that John very much did not want to discuss with Sherlock under his bed. The time to have discussed that box had been when John confronted Sherlock over the whole holodeck thing. Admitted to his own lack of complete honesty and moved on.

So, John said, "Oi, you can quit tearing the place apart. You've seen the only picture from my glorious years at Mary Magdalene School for Omegas." He shrugged. "It's no big secret. I hit puberty and you know how going through pseudo heat hits some Omegas hard."

Sherlock looked at him blankly. "I was not in proximity with omegas during the years when pseudo heat might occur." A smile broke like lightening on those kissable lips of his. Crashing on the shores of those cheekbones. "Which was then followed by my running away from home, forging my identity, and joining Starfleet at age fifteen." He said in that sly way he had when he wanted John to be impressed. "I went through the academy in half the normal time. Tested out of most classes."

Which had John gapping, because he could do basic math and he had seen Sherlock's service record. "That means you're only five years older than I am. How were you teaching a course on Exo-bio? How did anyone not realize that you were only fifteen when you joined?"

Sherlock smiled ruefully, examining his own hands. "Humans males continue growing into their twenties. I had sufficient height and muscle mass to convince the academic advisors that I was eighteen. As to the other, I invented a university that provided me with my credentials. I knew the material already. My set of study was quite rigorous. At first, I needed to catch up. Then there was nothing for it but to surpass."

John couldn't help but shake his head and smile at Sherlock.

"In any case," Sherlock prowled closer and took up a space next to John on the bed, "we were discussing your history. Pseudo heat hitting you hard."

"Yeah, well, take my word for it, some kids find puberty hard. I was one of them." John picked up Sherlock's right hand. Ran a thumb over long fingers capable of making John feel like he was flying. While on fire. "Sex was really all I could think about. Which was bad enough. But I convinced our Prop master's son, Tadpole, Christ I haven't thought of him in years, that we wouldn't get caught if we did it on the bed from one of the Jacobian revenge plays. Not that it took much convincing. He was as randy as I was. Course, we did get caught and there was a terrible row." Sherlock had to know. "That was the worst incident, but um… not the only time I tried to go out catting."

Sherlock slid his fingers along John's arm.

"Mum and Dad are pretty liberal about sex, all sex positive and all that. None of the strange attitudes that you find on Earth, but I was getting out control. My grades were taking a nose dive. There was no way I was getting into the academy or becoming a doctor if we didn't do something." He sighed thinking back on the whole mess. How angry Harry had gotten with him. How much she'd blamed him.

His sigh earned him a kiss on top of his head, and arms that pulled him in for a snuggle against Sherlock's warm chest.

"They broke up the company. Took a job doing Tellarite dinner theater on Rigos so they could be near the school. Looking back, I think my parents may have almost broken up over it. They argued all the time about it. Course, Harry, my twin, thought I was just trying to get attention. We were close before that, but after… we haven't really spoken much."

There was a long pause. Nothing but stroking skin. Into that pause, Sherlock said, "My parents have never had sex."

"Yeah, most kids want to think that."

"In my case it is correct. Mummy genetically mixed their material with my fathers in a petri dish. I have two fathers. It is complicated."

John absorbed that.

He also got to absorb, what Sherlock said next. "As you know I can't remember my early childhood. I don't recall ever being touched as a preteen. Teen." John couldn't resist a stroke of Sherlock's hip at that statement. "Every morning, I would wake at four. Swim in the river the flowed beneath the… place where I lived. It was set to ten degrees Celsius. Run for ten miles. Study during my waking hours. My parents or my brother would periodically check in on my progress. There were… call them servants who watched me. Monitored me."

A lot to unpack from that. Later. John shifted to kiss Sherlock's cheek. A gorgeous cheek bone. Lovely lips. "Yeah, well, things got better for both of us."

Sherlock nuzzled John's neck. Suddenly, sitting up "Oh! Your school was the source of the pornographic plugin that you used on the holodeck."

"How did you… yeah. It was. There was a holosuite where we were supposed to go commune with nature or God or something, but we all used it for sex. There was this one teacher, Father Stephanos, who was the template of a lot of fantasies at that school. Cheekbones that could be used to cut glass and his hair…" John gave Sherlock a look. "We haven't done Priest kink yet have we? Oh, we are definitely doing that."

After that, the conversation left behind the teen years and focused on what they could do right then.

But John did take a warning from the conversation and Sherlock's need to open every drawer and look at everything.

He moved the box to his office desk in sickbay, which had its own dangers of exposure, but Sherlock was completely uninterested in John's desk, having separated medicine as John's problem. The box somewhat took over the lowest drawer.


	8. Sherlock POV

Sherlock stopped. Glared. Unable to repress a complaint. "If we rub the bow on human skin it will ruin the bow hair with oil." Stopped.

He'd never objected to a scenario. As it was, his question a few weeks ago had bordered on dangerous territory. But it was worrying that he did not know how John's research was going. Through choice. He wanted to know. He did not want to know. Sherlock knew who and what he was.

He didn't really want John to finish any time soon.

Because Sherlock was as certain about the exact coloration of John's irises as he was that John would not want to continue this particular activity once he knew.

"What would you rather do?" asked John. He spread his hands as if Sherlock's objection were not a problem. As if he wouldn't stop if Sherlock had some form of boundaries. "Main thing was I want is to go from listening to your music burrowing into my ears and fucking with my brain, to something," he waggled his fingers, "equally lewd involving sex and a violin."

Sherlock was still having difficulty with this idea. The mind palace was useless in this regard. But still he contemplated in his John wing. He was brilliant. He had charts. He understood the parameters of this equation.

"But this is your week to choose the scenario."

John laughed. "It's not all just one or the other." He stretched up on his toes and whispered in Sherlock's ear, "We can mix our kinks."

Sherlock shivered and slightly blushed. His body responding to stimuli. To the chemical cocktail.

He said, "Computer, one humidifier." When the green tube appeared on the table, Sherlock stared at John as he pulled it through the f-holes in his violin. Imagining John sliding through other holes. As he worked it through the wood, he described how it was moistening the wood. Keeping it supple. The music lush. For John. How he could use the violin to fuck John's mind through his ears.

Then he played Leider. Suppressed a reaction as John worked Sherlock's cock into his mouth while Sherlock played.

This could have been either of their fantasies.

It was both.


	9. John POV

In medicine, patient zero was important.

In medicine, examining the first version of a virus could explain how mutations occurred.

Not that Augments were mutations, and he could just hear Lucy giving him what for.

In friendships, people tried not to give their friends post traumatic stress flashbacks. Particularly refugees from another century who'd been rounded up for being an Augment.

But there was one more avenue of research John could follow, and he was out of ideas as to what caused Sherlock's particular presentation of augmentation, and there was as close to an original augment as he could find right on board ship.

He went to Billy's quarters after shift was over.

Billy said, "Hello, John." he glanced back at where Connor was doing his homework quietly. "Is there something you need?"

"Yeah, a conversation I'd rather not have in the hallway."

Once inside and with a cup of tea in his hand, he still didn't know quite how to say what he had to say. Despite practicing it on the way there.

He said, "I've never really asked you much about your family."

"I understand." Billy looked away briefly. "You have your family stories about Anthea. Anything I could tell you would only tarnish the legend." He took a sip of tea. "As it is, I still get nightmares about the past. Can't bring myself to step foot on a planet. A space station is the future. I know I'm not back there when I'm on one, but a planet." He drank more of his tea. "I don't know."

John felt horrible, but he pressed on with, "Yeah, I actually meant um… Christ this awkward. It's just I haven't wanted to talk to you because I know what you went through with Colonel Green, but Augments don't have a lot of records on why our augmentations present certain ways." He shrugged. "Too much mixing from the original strain." He held up his hands. "I'm not saying now, but if you're ever ready to let me take a look at your DNA, you might be able to help augments know a bit more about ourselves. Understand some of the problems we have, medically speaking." It hadn't been his first reason for wanting to ask, but when John had thought of it, the reasoning actually made sense.

"I… I don't know." They looked over and Connor was looking at them. "Not right now. Maybe… not right now."

And that was that.

Well, except the earful he got from Yao for upsetting Billy, which was about what he felt like he deserved.


	10. Sherlock POV

Sherlock dressed in the mid-twentieth century three piece suit for the role of Sugar Daddy, per John's request.

But when he arrived in the holodeck, John wasn't in the midst of flirting with this or that hologram. He wasn't wearing some exceedingly skimpy garment that revealed significant portions of his skin.

Instead, he was wearing a lumpy sweater, canvas pants, and there was a smear of ash on his cheek. He was scurrying about the coffee shop where Sherlock was standing, being ordered about by two women at the counter doing little to nothing.

"Is there anything you want, sir?" said John softly.

Sherlock ordered a coffee he didn't want, but was forced to ask, "I thought this was the Sugar Baby scenario."

John smiled slightly, and glanced back at on older woman, who had started yelling at him. "How do you think Sugar Babies are born?" He winked at Sherlock.

Was given a number of other rather obvious clues about John's great poverty, and mounting debts to pay for his sick mother’s healthcare, which bizarrely wasn't something paid for by society at large.

Still John's weary sigh was clearly Sherlock's clue to sit next to him. Tell him, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I have a proposition for you."

Then he got to sweep John off to a life of luxury. It was the most fun that Sherlock had ever had in this scenario. Getting to dress John in beautiful clothes. Getting to play at seducing him while taking him to opulent locations. There was, interestingly, some sort of superficial moral lesson about sharing his wealth with the masses amid all the exotic seduction.

Something in Sherlock relaxed, as he considered other ways to play and blend the games that they were playing.

The next time he played the role of warlord's concubine, he paddled the nasty barbarian John for kidnapping him and when John had promised do anything for him, revealed he was secretly a prince from a faraway kingdom, who needed John’s help to regain his birthright.

Not that Sherlock ever wanted to go home, or particularly had a birthright, but it was enjoyable.

He was coming to realize that was what fantasy was. Reimagining the circumstances of the possible.


	11. John POV

John told himself to put on the big boy pants and have an actual conversation with Sherlock about the results of his research. Because if he could ask Donovan about her childhood illness, bother Billy, he could ask Sherlock what he knew about himself. He held the results in a tight grip and said, "I've been researching your blood."

"And my semen," supplied Sherlock. "What have you concluded?" Those changeable eyes of his were wide and blue in the starlight from John's window.

"That your mum cooked up some amazing biology." John let out a breath. He brushed his hand along his neck where the marks were, "You know that we've occasionally, well, I… have been…"

Sherlock watched him like a theater critic at a high school production of Grease.

John sighed. "There are healing properties in your blood and sperm, which has consistently overcome any contraception I've used. Not that it's come to anything." No need to explain why. "But you should know your own results." He handed over his research. "Any ideas why or how this might happen?"

The light from the tablet turned Sherlock's eyes pale green. His eyes flickered over pages. Finally he said, "My immediate thought would be Mummy. It's possible that they modified my genetics. I do know based on anecdotal comments by Mummy that… they have the same reproductive issues as the majority of the Augment population."

"An aggressive immune system that attacks foreign cellular material and heightened healing," said John.

"Indeed," said Sherlock, who looked back at the tablet. "Mycroft was the result of… Mummy being required to try a number of times the old fashioned way. I was given to understand that I was not any easier to make." His eyes were almost gold now as he looked down. "Now that you know, what do you intend to do?"

John shrugged. "Nothing to do."

John told himself it was true.


	12. Sherlock POV

This time, John was a captain of industry in some fantasy version of Earth where the Eugenics Wars and WWIII had never occurred. Where Earth had rolled into the twenty-first century full of prosperity and opportunity.

For some. For some like John, immense wealth and power was gathered into his hands.

While others, must trade upon their appearances to make their way. Sherlock's role. A dewy slip of eye candy on John's arm wearing absurdly high heels as they swept into the party. That he had the holodeck smooth his face to make him appear ten years younger was a delicious conceit. He towered over John and it didn't matter.

John's power wasn’t about his height. It was in the way he walked. Legs slightly parted. One of Mr. Garak's bespoke suits as perfect as a suit of armor. A power suit. Powerful.

Sherlock played his role. Flicking his eyes over the primitive communication device that accessed what this fantasy world posited might have created based off of ARPANET. Paying no attention to the party.

Paying all the attention.

There were thirteen separate mysteries seeded randomly into the scenario by an algorithm.

Sherlock was going to be brilliant and earn his Sugar Daddy’s reward.


	13. John POV

"Sir, I'm getting a distress signal from the Ophiucus system," said Hunter. "It's... using Morris Code."

"Huh," said Smith. "That's... um... special."

Sherlock perked up.

John, who'd wandered up to the bridge as sickbay was presently dead boring and was therefore fulfilling his own role as Sherlock's foot warmer, gave Sherlock's bare ankle a squeeze, which perhaps wasn't entirely subtle, but earned him a smile.

"Plot a course," said Sherlock.

The course was duly plotted, but as their days would generally have it, sensors identified what Hudson identified as a fissure of Triolic energy.

Which at least meant that John could earn his presence. "Triolic energy is deadly to Human tissue, but shouldn't be able to penetrate the shields as long as we don’t linger."

Sherlock jumped up. "More importantly it can be a biproduct of trans dimensional disruptions. Slow to warp one as we navigate the fissure." He wriggled his bare feet on the floor. "Morris code. Triolic energy."

"Scylla or Charbidis," muttered Hunter.

"Ta," said John who did have a pretty good grasp on his Greek monsters thanks to his dad, who'd loved reading the original gruesome Greek myths to John and Harry when they'd been tots.

The Bakerstreet wasn't ripped to shreds. Really nothing more than some really gorgeous lights playing off the shields.

On the other side what they found was Earth. Same continents. Same seas. Same stars even. But no satellites. No space traffic. The moon was empty.

Hudson ran an analysis on the scans while Sherlock waited impatiently. "All the cities are in ruins. Based on the level of decay, for at least four hundred years. I'm also getting some Human life signs. Not more than a hundred thousand scattered around the planet." She tapped a control and the monitor updated with a pale green marker. "The greatest concentration is here, which if this were Earth, it would be White Sands New Mexico."

Which had John frowning trying to remember where he'd heard the name, until Hunter said, "That's where the old nation state government of the United States developed their nuclear program and then their Augments program." Which yeah, that was what John had been trying to remember.

Sherlock made a grand gesture in the direction of the lift. "Doctor, a distress signal has been sent." He rocked on his toes. "Let us render aid."

John tossed Sherlock his boots and joined him in Transporter Room Forest with Cho, and Donovan.

They transported into the sort of withering heat that the desert was prone to, followed by the impression of brilliant white sunlight reflecting off of cracked and crumbling cement, and low governmental buildings that John was familiar with from mid-twentieth century Earth movies. There was a sand battered and faded yellow sign that read, "No Smoking" on the side of one of the closer buildings.

Sherlock pulled an object out of a pile of white sand. It looked like a child's tricycle. Its red paint was mostly chipped. His genius, rather than examining it with a tricorder, sniffed and then delicately licked it. "Oi, we don't know where that’s," John's protest was cut off as a humanoid figure, their skin covered in brilliant blue lesions, burst out from a gaping opening in a nearby building, and grabbed the tricycle. John shot it on stun, but as it went down, it underwent a startling change. It's flesh wrinkling and sinking.

John quickly holstered his phaser and focused on his medical tricorder, and confirmed what his eyes were telling him. "Its cells are aging rapidly. Centuries in seconds." The figure's death rattle was more of a faint sigh.

"How wonderful that Security elected to join us," said Sherlock.

Donovan flipped him the bow finger with the hand not holding a phaser. Then she shifted on the balls of her feet. "What was that?"

John couldn't hear whatever it was, but his tricorder showed a life sign in the nearby building. They pushed their way through the half broken door and into the darkness. The sound of crying became clearer. They came to a closed door in a long hallway. "Hey there," said John. "We don't mean you any harm. We got your signal, and we came to help."

The sounds behind the door abruptly stopped. John whispered, looking at his tricorder, "It's Human. We should,"

Sherlock ripped open the door to reveal a young teen in a closet. Normal female. Signs of malnourishment. Tracks of tears running down her cheeks beneath tangled brown hair. She held up a plunger as a poor substitute for a weapon "Please, please, don't hurt me."

John shot Sherlock an annoyed look for being a giant over dramatic tit. "Don't worry, we're here to help."

"Watson," said Donovan, "Look at her hand."

"I see it," said John, who was after all a doctor and had noticed the blue lesion on the girl's right hand.

"You're, talking, but you're," the girl looked up at Sherlock, "you're grups."

Donovan said, "We're not grups. We're from the Federation. Do you know what that is? What happened here? Are you a grup?"

"Obviously she is not," said Sherlock. "If you paid attention, you'd realize that some form of disease afflicted the figure from before and this girl. They're both Humans at different stages of the disease."

The girl shook her head. "I'm not a grup. I'm an onlie." She softly touched the lesion on her hand with the tips of her fingers. Feeling out the shape. "Soon now, I'll be one of them."

"Maybe I can do something about that," said John crouching down next to her. "My name is John. I'm a doctor. If it's a sickness then maybe I can help." He smiled gently at her to try and draw her out. "What should I call you?" He ignored Sherlock's grumbling about John's flirtations, which was clearly ridiculous.

The girl said, "Miri. I'm Miri." She rubbed at the snot running from her nose. "But you can't fix. That's fibbing. Grups said in the before time that they could. But all the grups went wayside. We onlies had to hide till they died. Now the only grups are when one of the olders of the onlies passes over." She scratched at her lesion.

"Of course," shouted Sherlock. He tapped his com. "Hunter, in the historical records. What building at White Sands was the center of the American research into developing Augumented humans?"

"346," came the reply after a long pause.

Sherlock laughed. "Parallel Earth's, John!" and ran out of the room.

Donovan sighed and ran after him. Which left John with a bit of a choice, but really terrified kid in a closet had to win out here. He asked, "Do you know where building 346 is?"

Miri nodded slowly. "It's a bad place. It's where the sickness started."

"Of course it did," said John. "But would you take me there? It'll help me learn how to fix the things?"

She shook her head and pulled back farther into her closet. John held up one finger, reached into his med kit, and pulled out a ration bar. He peeled back the wrapper, took one bite to show her it was fine and handed it over. She took it slowly. Bit in and sighed. "Oh! Most of the before time food is gone." Then she looked down and sobbed slightly.

John followed her gaze. There was a bright blue lesion on his arm. Whatever disease this was, it moved fast. "Maybe you should take me to the bad place now." He looked over at Cho, who had developed lesions over the thyroid glands on her neck. "How long did the grups have before they died?"

She sniffed. "Five days, maybe. It's been. I was younger then. It’s been long time."

Miri wasn't eager to go to the lab, but in the end, another food bar and some gentle coaxing from John had her agreeing.

Sherlock had already gotten into the available records by the time they arrived at 346. John did a quick examination of Sherlock's exposed skin. Donovan's too for that matter. No lesions. However this disease worked, Sherlock and Donovan's immune systems had sent the disease packing, but it was making short work of John and Cho.

Five days and counting down.

"Fuck, we have to be carriers," said Donovan. Which might be true. It might not.

A fairly obvious possible cure was standing in front of John talking about how the inhabitants of this parallel Earth had been investigating longevity rather than super humans, and had managed to create the disease that killed them. It was a variation on what had occurred on Omega IV.

"But where did the onlies come from?" asked John glancing at Miri.

"Think John, think. A world that's been decaying for three hundred years. Onlies. Only children. Grown ups. Miri here is four hundred years old."

Miri shrank back, but nodded an affirmative. "Mommy worked on the base."

John tapped his com. "Hudson, please send down a bio-computer and an electroscope." And briefly brought her up to speed. He had five days. If he could get into the minds of some ancient scientist and figure how they'd fucked themselves over, they’d be fine.

"You'd better," said Donovan. "I don't much like the idea of being alone here with Commander Freak."

"You wouldn't be alone," said Miri softly. "Lots of onlies. Us olders made sure to keep them fed."

Donovan frowned. "If there are children here alone, we need to do something to help them."

"Or at least get more information," said Sherlock, getting that hungry to take apart a mystery look.

“Go on,” said John. “I’ve got plenty to keep my busy here.”

His requested supplies appeared and he set to it. Reverse engineering a vaccine based on reading ancient magnetic tape with his tricorder and being glad that those crazy scientists had decided to build in a dry desert and not some place more temperate, which might have resulted in the storage materials decaying.

Sherlock reappeared at some point with Donovan going on about the children of the corn. They'd acquired several tots in the scraps of old olive green military gear and feral expressions. John handed out more food bars. Earning teary eyed thanks from Miri, and unfortunately, a rather terrifying overture from the ancient kid. This had him blearily turning her down as kindly as possible, before Sherlock swept in and stomped on her romantic dreams. He could have done without Donovan telling her that Sherlock was John’s boyfriend, but Sherlock certainly didn’t help with that impression.

John kept working. Reverse engineering ancient scientists’ bad decisions until he had it down to his best guess.

He could have a vial full of death or a vial full of cure.

He fell asleep next to the biocomputer.

A biocomputer that wasn’t there when he woke up.

John didn't have long to wonder how a bunch of children snuck in and took everything, giving Donovan a nasty head wound, and trapping Sherlock for the necessary few minutes in a crumbling building.

Donovan said, “Miri went back to her corn family to betray us. They took everything."

Which then had John cursing himself as an idiot, because he hadn’t setup the auto replication on the bio-computer. None of this work was backed up.

There was no way to analyze the cure if John didn't have the computer. Nothing he could even connect to the Bakerstreet, and there simply wasn't time to start his research over again.

John sent his genius off to find the computer. If a building hadn’t just fallen on Sherlock, he might have realized why John wanted him away.

As it was, John waited until the count of ten and injected himself. The other answer to the trolley problem was for the conductor to jump in front of the trolley.

He woke up with Sherlock shaking him. "John! John! John!"

John raised his arms. No blue lesions. "It..." his mouth was dry as the desert outside. He tried to swallow and began again, "It worked?"

"You are an idiot!"

"You always say that," whispered John. Who pulled himself up to examine the bio computer and his own results. Now that John knew what worked based on his own blood workup, John was easily able to manufacture a cure. Cho didn’t lose consciousness with her dose of the cure. Miri, pleading for forgiveness from John, had it even easier.

He set her to find the onlies and convince them to come to where they were. It got her away from Sherlock, which was a double victory.

In the end, she could only convince a few dozen. John walked her through how to apply the cure, while Sherlock stood nearby with his arms crossed and glaring. They left her and the other elder enough cure for a few thousand onlies and crates of food.

Took all the younger children that would come with them back to the Bakerstreet, while they waited for medical reinforcements.

Watched Connor and Sestre visit the children in Sickbay, and remembered the way Connor had looked coming out of the medical experimentation pits in Colonel Green's castle.

He told himself that it would all be fine.

But he knew that he’d be presented with this trolley problem over and over. Just as he knew his answer would always be the same.

He didn't need to understand what had won the genetic lottery for Sherlock.

He was happy enough to fall asleep time to time enfolded by kilometers of an alpha making like an octopus, and to indulge in the games they liked to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Miri_(episode)  
> https://www.tor.com/2015/05/27/star-trek-the-original-series-rewatch-miri/  
> memory-alpha.wikia.com/wiki/Triolic_wave


End file.
